At a Time

I am, Not just another poem, That passes by, One line at a time. I am, Not just a script, That you read, One sentence a time. I am, Your igneous ingenious innocence, That you lost, One lie at a time. I am, Your cozy cherished childhood, That grew old, One present at a time. I am, The genius within you, That they killed, One 'don't dream big!' phrase, At a time. I am, Your soulfully serenading sobriety, You sipped away, One bottle at a time. I am, Your glorious new dawn, That gushed by, One dusk at a time. I am, Your eccentric effervescent enthusiasm, That ended by, One failure at a time. I am, The fire within you, That flew by, One smoke at a time. I am, Those wishes within you, You wished by, One shooting star at a time. I am, The universe within you, That gulps by, One black hole at a time. I am, The life inside you, Live me now! Before you exhale me, One breath at a time.

My Santa is dead

"The Santa is gone"
Mom told me in tears.

This was
That day
That day, I wished to be a nightmare

That day I knew
I was him
when his cold body felt my hand.

I kissed him goodbye
on his forehead.
That day the child in me
cried out loud.

That day life got feared
over death.
As I teared down over a soul, with
an aching heart.

Forest of misfortune

I cannot leave this damned place!
A place less near to misfortune.

Amidst the fog
I heard the chariot of Apolyon
rushing over the lake which
I believe is filled with maliciousness.

Below the sun
the beasts walk in pride
the hunters of the night as they
prowl behind the bushes
For their hunt is of no sport rather
to survive.

Lost Smells

I

I floated about her
with my fingers unveiling her back
as she sprawled bare in my bed,
beautiful and asleep.

I felt it, the skin
as it painted my tips,
but there was no trace of her smell
that I so longed for.

I've lost the memory of that smell;
It hasn't been long but I've lost it.

II

But the smell, that which I sniffed
long and deep, with my nose
running along her bare back,
to bottle up the smell for all

the time to come,
to push it to the inescapable depths
of my memory, where it was to be chained
and celebrated, is now lost.

I may have put it so deep,
I can't access it anymore.

It was Lilles as a kid;
now, her. 

You and I

Sitting quietly on the verandah, just you and I,
Yet speaking volumes eye to eye, just you and I.

As the sun and moon finger paint the cloudy twilight,
Two colors of love blending in the sky, just you and I.

Your sweet voice whispering epiphanies like birds,
Flying away from the cacophonous lie, just you and I.

Love is unreasonable, rising fading like dusk and dawn,
Between our light is no if but or why, just you and I.

A mist of happiness in the air sets as an effervescent dew,
Your breath like an elixir for my life dry, just you and I.

As god cheers in disguise, universe has a table for two,
Oh, how we get drunk in love and high, just you and I.

Our bodies will be dusted one day, but the whole cosmos,
Will wish upon the two shooting stars nigh, just you and I.

Us women.

Us women, we begin to fall apart

Since the day we are conceived.

We are conditioned to pick ourselves up

In silence and with grace after falling.

Our minds scream RAPE

With fathers and uncles and brothers,

Forget about strangers,
On dimly lit streets and crowded clubs.

I haven’t written a word in a whole month

Because I was told that art is emotion and not revolution.

It is all that is aesthetic but I know I'm not. 

Today, I am not sorry that this poem does not sing

Sweet adjectives and reminisce metaphors.

Tell me that art is apolitical and I shall tell you that

There is NOTHING BUT RAGE IN MY WORDS.

I WILL HOWL AND SCREAM AND ROAR BLOODY MURDER

IF THAT IS WHAT IT TAKES TO BE HEARD.

I SHALL TELL YOU THAT MY HANDS DON’T STOP SHAKING

I SHALL TELL YOU ART IS UGLY AND RAW AND UNFORGIVING.

THAT ART IS A BOOMERANG PUNCHING BAG.
THAT THIS IS MY NUCLEAR REACTION
To EVERY SINGLE NIGHT that you have roamed free

And I lay awake, wanting to ask you why you hurt me.

And I can’t walk without wanting to collapse.

And how fear runs deeper in my veins than blood

For my little sister who does not know that

Us women, we do not have our monsters
Under our beds.

Apollyon

After you left

I actually listened 

To your absence 

It sang to me

Of love wrapped 

In lies and subterfuge,

Of those hearts 

Who bled screams of betrayal, 

Of those limbs

Lost to a dead weight state,

Of your mind 

A beautiful creature in its own right. 

And then it sang of you:

Your voice, your hands and your eyes

A summation of desire

All stolen from those you 

Destroyed. 

You will carry them. 

And we shall carry you 

Like the devil on our shoulders.

Thy kingdom come. 

Thy will be done. 

Till we ourselves lie 

Broken in contempt. 

Ever since you left 

I’ve listened every day 

And your absence takes

More space 

Than you ever did. 

Borrowed Lines

I read Plath

And I wonder if 

She wrote to

Death 

On a sunny day. 

When everything was 

Bright

Except for her insides. 

Dying is an art 

She said. 

Her first and last 

Attempt. 

Magnum opus. 

Evergreen

She came in my life like summer
I fell for her like rain
Time flew and autumn crept in
the leaves fell insane

I realized that the brown left
only for more n' more green
and the clouds came into the sky
for the rainbows to be seen.

They say every story has a Spring
but ours, my love, is evergreen.

Living Like a Toddler

I want to live like a toddler again

This plasticky adulthood is all in vain.

Starting from scratch, this is my rebirth

I’ll seek only the truth, and find the heaven on earth.

I want to stand up for the first time again

Even though I know the world around me will disdain.

Though I've been standing up and sitting down from years

This time I’ll stand up for my ideals and against my fears.

 I want to speak for the first time once more

 This time I’ll learn to whisper and not to roar

 And I’ll speak to express, not to impress

 As the truth always shines, more or less.

 I will believe in happiness and I’ll see the light

 I’ll learn to live free & figure out what’s wrong and right.

 And I’ll refuse to accept strange rules of people outside, 

 For this time I’m not blindfolded, my eyes are open wide.

 As the hourglass unwinds, I’ll feel my first sunshine,

 And I’ll carry the fireflies in a jar.

 So that when the dark night comes around,

 I’ll shine bright like a newly born star.

 And I will let those fireflies go away

 As they’ll spread the light all around.

 For I've learned true happiness comes from giving

 As one candle ignites thousands, still being safe and sound.

 When the autumn winds blow chilly and cold,

 I’ll struggle to stick to my tree,

 But its roots and stems will be strong enough,

 To cure the bruises of my knee.

 And when the clouds weep and a tap opens from the sky,

 I’ll learn to feel the rain and not to sigh.

 Amused by those heavenly droplets, I’ll open my tiny hand,

 Drenched with joy, I’ll smell the sweet scent of my motherland.

 I’ll learn to laugh and love without fear,

 And I’ll feel the joy of small things and endless cheer.

 Far up away from the boundaries & fences,

 I’ll see the world through my hopeful lenses.

 And as my days come to an end,

 I’ll continue the enchantment of the magic wand.

 For when I’ll die, my face will shine with a broad smile,

 Because I lived my life like a toddler all the while.

Accidental affiliation with straight lines.

The house sits quietly in the late evening 

on its last limbs, the summer draws its curtains.

The ceramics follow the call of the wind

swaying against the smashing cupboards

crashing against the pale floor.

My hands are stained with blood 

and memories, I’m not sure what is more dangerous.

Winter passes by, perches on the sill aching to swallow

this stale love we keep dipping in honey.

I wake up howling for mercy, kissing every glass

in the sink, hoping you will find my lips in lieu of love.

Your shadow leaves the bed unmade, unfolding up all the years

you didn't think of me as a sin. They are knocking, knocking

but I cant seem to stop brushing today with my head down

Holding the house as it begins to lurch into a swamp, 

she is knocking into a skull, handing me slips of hypnotherapists 

who cant seem to diagnose me right.

I curl into a sofa as the aching house 

fumbles, begs for a love that never humbled 

daydreamed in the night, fleshed out into a nightmare with the dawn.

All bones c r a c k, the roof hollowing up to the rainbow sky

maybe what we need today is to look for a lover 

that doesn't stop tasting like love. 

I remember.

I remember 

slipping through roads, 

foreign and the ones to home

being chased, a figure slithering 

tongue wet. I remember my mother 

telling me what a good touch is

what a bad touch is. The ruins have
stories to tell..

I remember a friend crutching her heart 

as she began retrieving a

childhood taken away by a lecherous 

grandfather after school memories in the heat 

of not a moment.

I remember sitting on your stairs lined with roses 

overlooking all the city lights. You said a man issued a fatwa 

against women

to not have hair dipped in colours of sunsets, 

for hair to not have a life of their own choice

to a life of uni-brows, 

and it doesn't matter

which towering stair I pick

or if I sit on a terrace looming above skyscrapers  

I never tip this power play.

Always being tipped over on this weigh.

I have amassed a set of words from men over the years

and when I begin to unfold them on summer nights

They are lonely insults, they are compliments dipped in fat shaming

they are letters of harassment coated in gold, they are diaries of changes observed 

in my body, before I have begun to say 'NO'. Inboxes bursting at seams with satin lined swords 

sharpened over and over with privilege.  

Every woman I have met has to had to slip, sink into her skin, pools of self 

 to begin chipping the slivers of the tree of abuse they had left in their wake.

There are politicians overtaking the stage, 

banning alcohol to disguise a nation raping its own mothers, 

and every poem I write for my kin

I have to apologise to men, syringe it onto paper I'm still on your side 

but not of the system.

Even though I have dipped my head into sinks countless times

for water to break into rooms on campuses bound with time 

I remember the fear, that hangs onto women circling through 

streets, drenching themselves in perfume to erase the stench of it.

And I don’t want to,

I don’t want to remember all this,

To have to apologise for my voice,

to put up a smile even when I’m emerging out of drains

to contort into a charade of having to live up to a woman 

that doesn't exist. 

the chat [box]

i open again
and again
to read us talk
from
beginning
                to
                   end.
remember the lies
i've told to look cool
should have
rather played 8 ball pool
because right now,
it's not you in my
notifications
but a silly candy crush
invitation
all that time
at that net-cafe
that i've spent
writing to you
should have rat-
her played dota 2. 

Reflection

The doors of the metro look back at you, 

staring at the silken skin that wears you, 

while you begin to break through

your own reflection, years spent yearning 

for affection, years caved in cocoons 

of people, waiting for your own gossamer wings.

You are a graveyard of all the people time made you

and never apologised for. All the lives overdue

bookmarked in time, while you dangle within this

pantomime. Aching to remove faces you have already sunk in,

hanging onto like puppets with all the people you have run with

unfolding and folding the boxes you are bound in.

The doors of the metro look back at you, 

are you looking back at your chosen hue?

Switch

Let's hang out today, I say.
    Switch.
I am caught up in overdue work.
    Excuse.

I am going to be happy today, I say.
        Switch.
The sadness is consuming me from within.
        Excuse.

I am going to attend my classes today, I say.
            Switch.
I am unable to lift my body.
            Excuse.

Let's jam in the music room today, I say.
                Switch.
I do not think I am good enough.
                Excuse.

I am going to fight this illness today, I say.
                    Switch.
This illness drowns me.
                    Excuse.

Excuses, excuses, excuses,
They are way more real than you could ever imagine.
They ask me, "Can you certify your absence?"
What do dark shadows look like on a certificate?

Parda

Ye jo insaaf tum kartey ho,
yun khudko maaf tum kartey ho,
dikhta to bas tumhe hi sab kuch,
meri to aankhein band hain!

Paapi, kahaan? Khuda ho tum to.
Main hi kabr hun, dargah ho tum to.
Tum taj, main paavon ko jooti,
mere jeetney ki vajah ho tum to!

Yun jo humko sach samjhaatey ho,
yun jo khud ko badaa bataatey ho,
yun jo betahaasha hukm jataatey ho,
Jataa lo, meri to aankhein band hain!

Vo jo fisley they, vo tum kahaan,
mere hi kapde chotey they.
tum to jhaankne aae the bas,
mere iraadey hi khotey they.

Main to bani hun bas choolhe ke liye.
Us raat, us doolhey ke liye.
Kya hua gar janaa tha maine,
 apni mamta mein sanaa tha maine,
Vaaris tera ab bhi tarasta,
baap ke jhooley ke liye.

Do pal ki fursat ho to jaakar,
dekh khudko aainey mein.
jaanega tu ae runk, teri,
aukaat kya sahi maainey mein.
Arrey haan! tu to sab dekh chuka,
meri hi aankhein band hain!

Jab tootega ahenkaar tera,
ho paega tab hi savera.

Jhagdaa nahin, sangraam hoga,
ab lahu mere naam hoga.
Tadpega tu kadmon mein mere, 
kuch aisa hi parinaam hoga.
Meri teesri lochan khulegi,
kyunki teri aankhein band hain!

That damn kid

Sweet lads on the street
come at me
let me sing you a story
the story of that kid.

That kid with a torn cloth
That kid who shared food
That kid who knew no happiness
That kid who shed no tears
That kid whose name never known

That damn kid now is a dead meat,
on the street, lay cold and fresh.
Crows fed on his meat and
men fed on his change.

I'm a Witch.

She destroys homes and deals in men.
She breaks bones and feasts on them.
She deals with the Devil and thrives on sin.
She spreads her legs in contempt of Him.
She is heresy and plagues all in her way.
She may be bent double or wear flowers in her hair.
She is someone who gets her way.
She is someone who scares you away.

She mixes herbs and drinks potions.
She lives alone and gives the solutions.
She curses and blasphemes whenever she wants.
She rides her broom and stays on top.
She has few days to live before she is caught
She will burn at the stake and the fear will be naught
She will leave the world darker in her wake.
She will be a Witch till the end of days.

But hold on, we’re not in the 16th century anymore.
You call me Witch when I open my mouth.
You call me Witch when I step out.
You call me Witch when I wear what I choose
You call me Witch when I let loose.
You call me Witch when I want my way
You call me Witch when I let my hips sway.
You call me Witch when I say no.
You call me Witch when I let go.
You call me Witch to from your tower.

You can me Witch to take away my power.

Witch till the end of my days I will be,

Witch will always crush your patriarchy.

Unlikely Union

The news was announced in hushed tones,
Urgent conferences with family elders ensued
There were threats about the breaking of a few bones.
The terrified girl had to have her own family sued.

"She has lost sense with all her education"
"Love is not all that matters in life"
"It is a marriage after all and not a vacation"
"This will cause such a strife"

It was an abomination and a mistake made in haste
The Brahmin daughter had eloped with the Dalit waste.

To measure time

T

Tick tock, tick tock,constantly says the clock,

to live life that sound one must block.

T

The clock moves slow and fast,

it can take us to the future and the past,

we can remove the clock and roles we are cast,

so that till the end of time we can last.

Or so it would seem, anyway.

Dear Rain

The road is indebted to the drain
how can one take pleasure in you dear rain?

you're our 9 AM exasperation
we're afraid of being late
"'it was raining heavy" being
 the faultless pretext to be made
seldom flood, steady drought
you're a perilous proffer we've brought.    

IN NEWS

The prisoner who’s been beheaded

 has grown another which is soon to be on

decapitation. It’s an old axe: the one that keeps

                                                                       falling    

                                                                and raising. Which

is why the prisoner throws a gold coin

at the headsman, why do I owe

you so much,

why I keep testifying. 

Walls

People wander through the world

avoiding each other as they fold

Paper castles with walls of stone

and they find themselves alone.

Looking for something they won't find,

Another heart, another mind

for as they hid from the dark, they shut out the light

and when they need help, they stay out of sight.

They wait for someone from the outside,

but they are the ones who chose to hide

behind grey walls.

Wandering monotone halls

so they remain hidden without a sound

and eternally waiting to be found.

Real Fire

For Yasmeen, victim of the 2002 Gujarat massacre.

It was the smell that came first
Of putrid flesh being roasted in a flame of hatred
Crouched in her dark mausoleum her arms wrapped around herself
She breathed for the innocent unborn life inside of her
The raucous laughter then penetrated the hollow ringing in her ears
Life for a life was what they had chanted on the street
Baba had shoved her in the closet and marched out
His fear so cleverly masked that even his blank,  dead eyes were brave.
Ma had beat her chest and howled and her last scream still echoed in her ears
Choking on her own tears she stuffed her duppatta in her mouth
They were walking outside, the bloodshot eyes she glimpsed through the crack spelt certain death,
She prayed.

Beside himself with grief and anger he pushed aside the torn bloody limbs.
The smoke was strong the house been torched less than an hour ago he burned himself in his panic
It was the jhumka he found first, torn from her ear with the blood still on it he clutched it to his chest
The smoke swallowing him whole he saw the torn duppatta next, her blood staining the soft blue hue.
He refused to lose hope till he saw the ring, cut along with her finger on the blood stained floor
Her expression one of excruciating pain and grief the way her death had been,
He saw his wife and unborn child dead on the floor.

RESCUE

(wake up)
Earthquake has jolted me again.
They say the sun is burning but,       I find myself under the debris.
Last wisp of air twists out of my body. Distant hope sails away.
(rescue)
Darkest pit of the deepest ocean drowns me.
To them, the water is shallow. I am suffocating, my hands thud
against the imaginary walls because
the water is muddy and I can’t quite see anything clearly.
(rescue)
The gravity is punishing me, from all sides. I am to become
a human spaghetti soon. Young organs fail in this crumbling shell, 
Hundred meters to the destination I turn back
and run until my lungs deflate.
(rescue)
A murky cloud sits over me. Sits for day and night, stays 
in ceaseless cycles. I kept hammering it up and down, the switch had been broken
for so long,
All the lighthouses with cracked walls meet the sea. Window pane becomes 
my reference, I traverse little every day
beyond this frame but my feet stay                   far
in the corner of my room, the world is u n n a v i g a b l e in the dark. 
(rescue)
Yesterday, the taste of my favorite candy slipped out of my tongue
day before, I managed to convince myself that winter after
summer after this winter would be less hazy.
It’s crazy! how often I find the same words between my teeth,
assuming the shape in the mirror I’ve seen a thousand times
and yet,
the words are hollow in the cassette loops I play in my mind.
They don’t stir me hard enough
to wake me up to the sound of hope.
(rescue)
I grow opposite to an infant who slowly learns what the world looks like 
in foggy windows, in shelter found in smoke chimneys late at night,
as it figures out utter silence in the shanty homes from extravagant parties 
and arched rainbow from the endless
grey skies.
but,
           my palette
is emptying. And soon, there will be no palette.
I am halfway gone. Already.
(rescue)
My body becoming an evening silhouette. What happens to it 
when the sun goes down?
I am halfway gone.
(rescue)
Dandelions grow and wither, but different ones every time.
I am nearing
the gates have come to my feet
(rescue)
to the further
(rescue)
to the end, in here.
(rescue)

(rescue)




(rescue)

(Sleep)

City in pages

Her voice knocks off
the heap of paperwork,
streets of my thought freeze
as she whizzes in a blur,
Out from my window
eyes settle on the skyline.
I hear my city
calling my name,
waving at me
longingly
(do I turn
and wave my hands back?)

It’s been a while
since I saw her,
parading the city in taxis,

Traveling in aroma of cafes
turning around the corner 

into the old bookstores

surprising the visitors
with her hospitality,
rarely is she angry
but when she is,
lighting strikes
in an upside down twig, 
she calms down soon
and flows
in a cool city breeze
caressing my cheeks.
(I wish
I could touch her back.)

With her, I had spent my time
in orange sunsets at the barrage, 

when I grappled to come in terms 

with the trivialities of my life,
we met by chance
to have departed from her, 

Choice was mine.

today, I look back 

and wonder

if I could meet her right before 

we bid each other goodbye, 

before I had left her behind.

A Frigid Night

It has been unlikened outside,
the wind whispering its bitter
Not so much a flaming tide,
But a sort of critter
Tearing through any pulp;
Cold's teeth, the thousand stabbing knives
Mold's grief, the lack of honey hives
A frigid night swallowed through gulp;
Freeze stays in place,
the whiteness surrounding glows
Breeze plays a mace,
The darkness entrapping knows
Hatred's universe has yet not died,
But that glaciers never lose their pride.

INFINITY

I am drowning

Blanket is my only horizon.
My fingers have forgotten your phone number
but my eyes can still see the river of lead
washing down your face, blurring it to future.

I don't compose farewell letters anymore
but I still can't help faking a smile or
cracking a lame joke when people are around.

I wonder if they still find out,
with my unwashed hair, unchanged clothes.
I am drowning but I want someone to save me

I am drowning,
come save me.

Shots in Delhi

Unknown to the world’s pleasures, like sex and vodka. 

In the middle of some tittle-tattle, while swinging in Delhi
and walking hand-in-hand all summer, caring for nothing.
Then Rohini waved in pain as I took a bus in new direction.
I cried tears of lead over our separation. I knew it was love.
But then Pitampura embraced me when I was just three.


Through straight-cut roads, higher than the tallest tree,
metro helped me date both without any voodoo-totka.
I soon met Dadri, but she had to look for another’s love
as her midnight touch couldn’t stop me romancing Delhi.
Yet her small hands still write to me about wider directions
asking when calm skies break loose, how can I do nothing?


Rape, Oppression, Tyranny! Government’s doing nothing?
Samrat, Jayaprakash & Misra have a yantra. Join the three
for it’s time to raise your placards in Jantar Mantar’s direction.
Brave the sun, hold the moon! Stop wallowing in rivers of vodka.
No time to rest, come protest at the Ramlila Grounds in Delhi.
Don’t just read the daily news! Come, be the news my love.


I think, “Jon-Ygritte would have a made a better love
story” “I disagree” he said bluntly. “You know nothing,
Jon Snow” she whispered in the ear of a stranger in Delhi.
Then she turned to the counter and asked for round three.
Paharganj winked, ‘Dirtier the girl, neater is her vodka’.
It made some wonder if she is headed in a bad direction.


While Qutub saw him drive in Tamarind Court’s direction.
When it struck twelve, they had already run out of love.
It was nearly time, yet he asked for a few shots of vodka.
And took out his gun, when the barmaid served nothing.
Charge sheets of the murder were filed on August three
while Lady Justice re-adjusted her blindfold in Delhi.


But there is more than ego, in every neighbourhood Deli.
After wall climbing or shopping, we resign from direct action
and start a selfie spree before splitting the food bill in three.
Diving from makeup to literature, from breakup to first love.
School. Clothes. Career. Dreams! Our gabfest misses nothing.
Hauz Khas watches laughter blossom in neat shots of vodka.


Three hundred inhibitions and one gulp of vodka.
Driving in India Gate’s direction, I blamed nothing.
Delhi is not my dream. It’s another word for love.



(Theme: City, Form: Sestina)

Washing Away My Shame

I'm trying to wash away my shame.
The tears in my eyes the blood on my thigh,
Why didn't he see my face?

My lips locked with his, my body was aflame,
His hands reached, I said no, he asked why.
I'm trying to wash away my shame.

I was being pinned to the bedframe,
His fingers in me I felt a scream but what came out was a sigh,
My wild eyes, sought his, why didn't he look at my face?

I was pushing him away but my hands felt lame.
Panic coursing through my veins, yet my body was on a high.
I betrayed myself, I'm trying to wash away my shame.

He was stroking my face, he was calling my name,
My eyes pleaded as I sought his, I felt my spirit die
I knew it was too late, but why didn't he look at my face?

My eyes swollen, spirit crushed, is this what people do in love's name?
Was this my trust, this my love? My eyes downcast all my emotions spelt fie.
The water's run out but I'm still trying to wash away my shame.
My eyes extinguished but I know why didn't look at my face.

Don't ask why

The cycle tyres

rubbed against

roads as smooth

as clean slate.

Pedaling with dreams

and a hidden heavy heart,

having to give up his

passion for the cause

of survival. To days

he was going to spend

at a rusty old desk,

his fingers typing

a harmonized rhythm off

a device which inked

words that didn’t

interest him.

How he wished

he could reproduce

those documents

with that same old

inconvenient device,

carve an identity

for himself the way

he always wanted to.

How he was made to

firmly believe that

there’d be less or
no fruition if he

chooses the road

of what he felt

was his own.

And thus, he never

looked back and

kept moving forth,

and forth,

and forth.

Will one cup suffice for two?

Coming to a conclusion is urgent

Because it seems, something else

has filled their cup to the brim.

I may be wrong 

and they are just shy.

And what if giving me attention, 

is a reason for their tension?

But then,

I just need some flirtatious intentions, 

not looking for some big intervention!

(Theme:Love,  Form: Free Verse)

Battlefield

Death caressed your body,

and teased you with explosions

setting off near where you stood.

Terrified, Death tries to erase your consciousness

when there was only one thing on your mind;

Breathe, live, survive.

Broken

Throw the rock and stone, leave the window shattered broken.

Launch the cannon ball and gunpowder, leave the foe ship sinking and broken.

Lick the sugar coating and hardened candy, sweet tooth reacts and gives you a new high.
Lick till it's gone and bite it, tiny shards and pieces tell you it is broken.

Longing for friendship and companionship, feel the bond that is forming.
Friendship turns to dust and rubble, it was trust that was broken.

Making the cake and batter, got all ingredients and utensils needed.
Get the milk and the eggs, crack crack was the sound of the egg broken.

First fight and indifference, rolling in the dirt and dust and rocks.
Blood spurting out and over, it was your nose that was broken.

You being her one and only and her not being yours, it was a one sided love affair.
You realized a little too late, that note you wrote left her fragile heart lost and broken.

"What's in a name?

that which we call a rose
By any other name 
would smell as sweet."

Even in my dreams, I won't dare 
to argue with you Mr. Shakespeare!
But far too many delicate roses
are renamed post-wedding.

Traditions and elderly wisdom
silences the mothers of all hybrids,
when their rosebuds are named
using a biased nomenclature.

Let's leave patriarchy aside,
even this quote won't be
taken in the same stride
if it wasn't connected to thee.
Your works have eternalized
your name in the pages of history.
Others just scribble away theirs
on the monuments visited.

Is this much ado about nothing?



(Theme: Politics, Form: Free Verse)

Khamoshi/Silence

 tum jitni baar puchti ho
ke tumhe hua kya hai
utni baar ik nai nazm jaagti hai zehen me
aur utni hi baar ankahi reh jaati hai
kyunki lafz ab dagabaz lagte hain
khamoshi se ishq badta jaata hai
theek waise hi jaise mera badta ishq
khamosh sa hota jaa raha hai
khamosh par shayad iklauti wo chiz
jo khokhli nahi hai dougli nahi hai-
baaki har chiz ki tarha
shayad hame bhi ab
khamosh ho jana chahiye

[Whenever you ask what has happened to me

Each of those times a new poem rises in my mind 

And each time it remains unsaid 

Because now I find that words always betray me

And so my love for silence increases 

just like my increasing love is becoming silent. 

Silent but maybe the only thing 

which is not hollow, not double faced-

like everything else in this world

Maybe we should too 

become silent now.]